Zumba was one of the worst experiences of my life. I know, the abrupt start seems unprofessional, but it was better than my original column idea of just repeating “Zumba sucks” for 500 words like an even more deranged Jack Nicholson from The Shining.
I was aware enough to know that Zumba involved dancing. I hate dancing. I look like that guy from the flash game “QWOP” when I dance. As a result, I never dance. However, I took a chance with Zumba after the surprising amount of enjoyment I got from yoga.
I previously had the opinion that only women did yoga. With Zumba, that opinion is more of a fact. A Zumba spokesperson said that 80 percent are women, though I feel that number is so grossly conservative it resembles Rush Limbaugh.
That fact alone made me reluctant to try it, but I decided to give it a try when I saw the instructor was a guy. That was a good sign. Maybe a lot of guys would be there and I wouldn’t look like the guy everyone expects will pull out his camera phone when the hips begin shaking.
I was wrong.
Aside from my instructor, Robert, there were maybe two other guys, compared to about 30 women. I felt like how Danny Devito looks: perverted.
For the briefest second, I was grateful for the distraction when Robert began the lesson. He turned on some bubblegum pop song and began to dance. As soon as he began dancing, everyone danced along with him.
I realized with horror that this was the lesson: a 45-minute game of “follow the leader” when everyone tried to dance like Robert.
This may not have been so bad if Robert danced like every normal guy does, by barely moving and impersonating a bobblehead, but he must have had past experience as a backup dancer for Britney Spears. He was really good.
Every sense of self-preservation begged me to leave the second the music started, but I have a journalistic responsibility to all you readers to painfully acknowledge every embarrassing moment I had when I try something new. You’re welcome.
So, I flailed my way through four songs until I told myself I had enough experience to write this column and scar me for the rest of my life.
I was completely aware of how foolish I looked. I always do my best to appear cool in front of women. That’s why I carry around my Elvis shades that I only take out when I talk to them. I never looked like more of an ass in front of so many women since the time I dressed as a donkey for Halloween in the sixth grade.
I am still befuddled at how Zumba is an organized activity. Nothing was done in that class that couldn’t have been done in the privacy of your own bedroom; just put on a playlist and dance. I mean, I occasionally do that, and at least in private I have a lot more chances to headbang and practice my air-bass skills.
Perhaps I am being too hard on Zumba. Yes, I hated every second I was in that room, but maybe there are a few people who enjoy dancing in public. I know it sounds weird, but there must be. Why else would Zumba be so popular?
To give the course credit, I did leave red-faced and sweaty, though that may have been due to my unprecedented level of embarrassment.
So, Zumba may actually be a good cardio workout. You know what else is? Anything. I probably got an equal cardio workout sprinting out of the building than I did in that class.
I have always been thankful whenever I attempted a new experience, but for this, I am just thankful that I will never have to do it again. Now I can finish recollecting this experience and begin the process of repressing this memory.
Dennis Fulton is a senior studying journalism at Ohio University and a columnist for The Post. Should he give Zumba another try? Email him at df342709@ohiou.edu.
